For Mistress on her birthday
by SassyGeminiMom
Summary: A long day at work. An ignored phone message. A missed note. She has come to his city. He will be punished, but he loves her too much not to go. RATED M for mature themes, BDSM. AU/AH One Shot for Ms Kathy's birthday


**A/N: This was written as a birthday present to Ms Kathy. **

**I will admit that I'd never heard of her (*gasp) until she became a fellow JB and was featured on the Twigasm podcast. I know, I live under a rock. It is however, possible that I wasn't ready for her in the fandom yet…and now I'm ready for her anytime!**

**Never afraid to lend a hand to anyone, she has proved herself a lady of class.**

**She is an amazing author as well. You can read her stuff at: http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/u/1691269/mskathy**

**And by the gods, you're such a pervy, little whore and I heart you hard for it.**

* * *

There was a note on his car, flapping in the wind from beneath his windshield wiper, when he finally emerged from work several hours late. He'd almost missed it; in fact tried to run the wipers in hopes that it would fly away to no avail. Cursing, he turned the wipers on again, thrust his arm out the window and grabbed the offending paper as the wipers rose. A portion ripped off and flittered away into the night wind. _Fuck!_

The paper was delicate stationery, had been floral scented, he was sure, before it had sat in the oppressive heat all day, was unlined and tinted the lightest pink. He remembered clearly the day he'd bought it. All that remained on the paper was an address. It looked like there had been a time, but he couldn't make it out. The note was not signed by name, but instead with an imprint of luscious, red lips. _Fuck, Fuck!_

The paper, the address and the lips could only mean one thing – _she_ was in town. His dick twitched at the thought. His mind raced back to the stack of "important" phone messages handed to him hastily at five o'clock; 3 hours prior to his departure. His memory knew which one it was before he pictured it; only a number was written, no name. He never thought to return the call. _This won't be good._

He knew the address well; he'd been there before. He'd been driving in that direction even before he realized he'd put the car in motion. He wasn't prepared. He was late, since she usually met him promptly at six; it was her way of making sure he left the office in time. He hadn't called for specific instructions. He would be punished. _Again._

He'd met her at a party; a private sin-party. He had arrived alone, had played with a few, but left with her. It was the first time he'd been at the loft. He awoke the next morning alone again. A note left nearby read:

_Touch nothing. I am very pleased, Pet. I will call on you again._

He'd absently fingered the black satin negligee that lie on the bed next to the note, not realizing that he'd already disobeyed. The next time she called, he'd understood his mistake perfectly.

The sound of a blaring horn tore him from the memory. Just how long had he been sitting at the green light? It wouldn't help him if he was delayed longer due to a traffic accident. The enraged driver behind him swerved past, gesturing obscenely.

He arrived shortly thereafter at the trendy downtown loft apartments. He entered the main lobby security code that he dared not forget. Stepping in the newly installed elevator, he pressed the number for the top floor and listened to the grinds and swooshes of the mechanics. In the pit of his stomach a web of nervousness, fear – though he knew better, and raw anticipation began to grow.

The heels of his dress shoes clanged against the floor as he walked, echoing in the silence. The renovated factory building was not yet fully occupied, though the upper floors had sold out prior to its construction. The people who lived here generally kept to themselves; he figured it was why she picked the location in the first place.

There was a cheery mat in front of the door that he always thought ironic. It was peppered with flowers and proclaimed 'welcome' in flowing scripted letters. In contrast, the number one rested solitarily upon the center of the grey metal door. He bent down and retrieved the key that he knew would be there from under the mat. He unlocked the door, replaced the key and entered; having no idea what to expect.

In itself, the loft was elegantly decorated; plush carpets, over-stuffed furniture and rich, bold colors dotted the landscape. He knew now that it was a mirage; a front staged by her to relax her guests falsely before entering the smaller enclosed room in the far corner of the space. It had been added, post market for sure, for the purpose of 'entertaining'. It was where he was headed to now.

Outside the door was placed a chair. Standing before it, he stripped, knowing full well that you did not enter this room clothed – ever. His skin flushed with every movement that brought him closer to entering. He knew the ritual, knew his role and her expectations, and learned never to deviate from them. He was in deep enough already, it would do no good to aggravate the situation.

He folded each article of clothing neatly, placing them on the chair with his shoes on top. He looked instinctively toward the ornate hook upon which usually hung the gold chain his neck longed for constantly. Tonight it was mysteriously missing. He noted painfully that his already straining erection relaxed just a bit; panic rising at the loss of his collar. His breathing had become erratic. He'd never been late before. He'd never ignored her call. He didn't know what to expect; what lied behind the mahogany door. He reached for the handle hesitantly at first, then quickly with more conviction. She would know he'd shown a hint of fear.

He entered the dark room, lit only by candle sconces in each of the four corners. In the center of the small room was a leather-upholstered and lightly padded platform on top of a dais. At each of the corners a restraint was attached, with various chains surrounding it depending on the need. Above it on the ceiling was a large mirror, though tonight a sheet covered it. The room smelled lightly of Lysol and leather oil. Along the walls various cabinets of dark, rich wood filled with things that most people would never dream existed. His dreams were filled with them. On the walls hung instruments of pleasure . . . and pain.

His eyes focused on the bench, also clad in leather and lightly padded, in front of him. He knew it was placed where it was so that it would be the first thing he saw when he entered. She was letting him know what to expect so he could mentally prepare himself. He knew tonight would be hard on them both and for that he felt deep regret in failing to please her. Their time together for him was precious and far too infrequent. He thought of her far more than he would admit; his need for her approval and love influencing his life often. She had showed him love he could never have imagined; taught him restraint, taught him trust, taught him things he didn't know his body or mind were capable of. He loved her and knew that she loved him despite knowing that he was not the only one. He refused to think of the others. This was their time together; what she did, or where she went when she wasn't in his city was her business.

Resting on the bench were three things: a blindfold, a paddle and his collar. She was giving him a choice, that's why it wasn't hanging on the hook. Even in his disobedience she loved him, cared for him, needed him to know that their time was for him and her. A single tear escaped his eyes. He could never walk away from her; he needed this.

His bare feet padded to the bench and he reached for his collar first. Gold and thick in a rope pattern, he'd asked once if he could wear it always. Her answer was simply no, he never asked why.

Nimble fingers released the clasp. He drew it around his neck and just as expertly clicked it closed. Tension he didn't know he was evident was released from his muscles and he let out the breath he was holding. All his fears and trepidations disappeared leaving only his deep seated desire to both give to and receive pleasure from her.

Next he slid the blindfold over his eyes, adjusting it for comfort. Kneeling on the bench with his forehead resting on the upper part, eyes cast down, arms at his side, he waited.

Time stood still. He neither knew nor cared how long he knelt. He didn't feel the slight discomfort of his forehead or the tingling numbness in his knees. He knew she would come for him, for that was her commitment, so he waited some more.

Fighting the urge to stretch, his ears strained for any sound to break the silence. He was lulled by the rhythmic sound of his own breathing and the pounding of his blood in his ears. He realized then that the waiting was part of his punishment. Their time together had already begun.

His body reacted immediately to the sound of the _click, clack_ of her stiletto heels on the hard floor. He fought the need to run to her, take her in his arms and tell her how much he missed her. He begged his own body to listen to the silent demands of his brain, to remain utterly still, but his dick wouldn't have it.

He heard the rustling and creaking of the leather she wore and smelled the soothing vanilla scent of her shampoo. His heart beat faster in anticipation sending waves of heated blood to flush his skin. A trickle of sweat dripped down his back and off the tip of his nose. She was close. He forced his mind to submit, to please her, to go to the place that they shared. He always had to fight the first moments; had to control his urges from the get-go. He didn't see her often enough and when he did, it was glorious.

She bent herself over his back, rested her head near his and whispered in his ear, "Thank you, Pet, for choosing to stay."

The night was hard and exhausting just as he figured. He'd paid for his indiscretions and was rewarded when he behaved well. Mistress had used a heavy hand, but she was always very conscious of his needs and always soothed his hurts. Each lesson taught was filled with loving words and gentle encouragement. Mistress offered both pain and pleasure this night; in the end he was spent, mentally and physically.

"You will sleep in my room tonight, Pet. I've set a place for you."

He'd never slept in her room before and was stunned momentarily at the offer. He wished she had asked him as a man to share her bed, to hold her in his arms and keep her warm through the night. He knew better, though, she couldn't, or wouldn't belong to him alone.

He followed her, still nude though now completely limp, to her private bedroom. At the foot of her bed was an inflatable mattress covered with a sheet, a blanket and a pillow. Eyes cast downward, he didn't dare glimpse at her creamy, soft skin as she disrobed and climbed into bed. He settled himself as well, grateful for the glass of water and the Ibuprofen set by the pillow. The pillow was firm, the sheet soft and the blanket softer. He snuggled down, contented, and Mistress turned out the lights.

Drifting easily into sleep, he heard a soft ruffle and then the sweet sound of her voice.

"Good night, Jasper."

"Happy Birthday, Kathy."


End file.
